Chapter 28 Kitty
TWENTY-EIGHT
KITTY
FIVE DAYS LATER
Playlist recommendation:
Church - Chase Atlantic
“The doctor’s visiting tomorrow.”
Stan hummed as he tossed the glossy onions he’d been sautéing in a skillet.
I finished braiding my hair. “You know… the doctor?”
Another hum followed a sprinkle of salt onto the clove of garlic he squished with his fork and threw onto the heat next.
“Okay, I lied. Aliens are visiting.”
“Yeah?” He grabbed the bottle of what looked like chili flakes and shook that onto his concoction.
“Yeah,” I concurred as he added in some cherry vine tomatoes. “They want to pump me full of eggs so I can spawn the next generation.”
“Really? That’s nice,” he mused, also pressing the tomatoes with his fork then ladling some of the pasta water from the pot that boiled away on the stove.
Exasperated, I turned to him, relieved when the movement no longer triggered excruciating pain. “Stan!”
“What?” He frowned at me but, after cutting off the heat, stopped what he was doing to haul me into a hug. “Did you say you were lying about something?”
I huffed.
This man, I swear.
“The doctor’s coming tomorrow.”
He looped his arms around my waist so I wore them like a belt. “What time?”
“You don’t have to be there. I wanted you to know so you can stop babysitting me.”
His eyes narrowed. From vague to intent—oooof, that shouldn’t have been hot.
Tell that to my ovaries.
Throw in rolled-up sleeves and all those yummy veins circling his forearms?
Excuse me while I ovulated.
“I’m not babysitting you,” he grumbled, his aggravation coming across loud and clear as he released me to put the heat back on and agitate the skillet. Could he look more European if he tried? “I want to know what’s going on with you. I need to know that you’re healing.”
“I can tell you that. I’m a lot better. Easier to move, easier to breathe.
Don’t feel like a freight train rolled over me, either.
” I wasn’t willing to share precisely how I knew I was better—the urge to sit on his dick grew ever more desperate.
What a plight. “Now, what’s going on with you?
” When he rubbed his chin, I warned, “And don’t say ‘nothing,’ either. You’re distracted.”
His lips twisted into a sheepish smile, one I added to the list of smiles in his coterie.
This bizarre interlude, a pocket out of reality where I healed, had created this intense awareness of him. I already felt as if we’d been dating a decade, but the length of time I’d known him could be counted in days.
I’d never experienced intimacy like this before.
“A few years back, I found this forum.”
“What kind of forum?” I prompted when he fell silent, but only after he dished up the pasta and tore basil leaves with his fingers.
Man, I wanted to suck on those so ba—
“The bulk of my degree, aside from lab work, I did online.” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t exactly attend college while my family and I were throwing over the Famiglia, so I did what I could when I could while puttering around in my private lab.”
“How very Dexter of you.”
He grinned as he passed me the plate. “The scientist, right? Not the serial killer?”
I whooped. “Yeah, the scientist.”
“Chemistry’s always been like cooking to me,” he admitted, back to being sheepish. “I used to concoct stuff.”
“What kind of stuff? Like pasta?”
“That too. This is pasta alla Scarpariello. My signature dish. But, as a chemist, all kinds of shit. I made a lot of creams back in the day. Unguents—”
“Huh. You little cosmetic scientist, you.” Then I took a bite of his penne and groaned. “Holy fuck!” What in the hell was this? It tasted like an orgasm in a bowl!
“Nice?”
“How did you turn stuff that came from the ground into this?! You are a magician!”
Stan chuckled, but I could sense his pleasure. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it?” I eyed his bowl. “There’s more in the pan, right?”
He snorted then upended some from his dish into mine and retreated to the kitchen. For a couple seconds, I savored the simple dish that tasted so much better than I’d have managed.
Upon his return, I watched him dawdle with his fork.
Stan was not a fork-dawdler, and I wasn’t about to let this pasta go to waste… “You were telling me what you made.”
“Oh, yeah. The first thing I created was a pomade—”
My fork clattered against the dish in surprise. “Like what my granddad used to wear?”
His grin widened. “Hey, it’s not just for old people. It gives texture to styled hair! I swear mine works like a charm.”
I peered at his glossy, sexy, my-hands-needed-to-tug-on-it hair. “Do you use it now?”
“In a sense. I sold it—”
“You did what now?!”
“I sold it. I didn’t make a fortune, but it funded the first real lab setup I purchased.”
“That’s so neat! Okay, so you used to make stuff and actually sold it.”
“I always wanted to work in a lab. It’s what I dreamed about.
Then I fell in with a bad crowd, got into drugs, and my dad was murdered.
” His humor faded. “Everything shifted on its head. Luc went from wanting to be a lecturer in history to needing vengeance. Rory had always focused on liberating Currau, but her goals aligned with Luc’s and they wanted to make the Italians pay. ”
“What about you?” I prodded, nudging his hand and watching in satisfaction as he took a bite of his pasta orgasmica.
“When I… I fell off the wagon, vengeance helped me get clean again. It seemed the right thing to do, and those dreams and goals were pushed aside. For all of us.” I let him fall silent, sensing that he was collating his thoughts.
“One thing I could do, once we’d established ourselves in the city, was take online courses in my spare time.
“My school provided access to an online forum and I met this woman on there. I knew she was a lot younger than me and there was something weird about how she used to talk, but she took a couple of the same courses and we got to know one another.
"I learned she enrolled in the degree to find a cure for her mom’s illness. She’d passed away a long time ago, but that was her end goal.
“In a sense, we became friends. I picked up that she had lecturers come to her house for private lessons—”
“What?! How do you do lab work and the practical side of the course at home?”
“I thought it was weird too. The server we used allowed for voice calls. We didn’t often speak that way, not unless we were busy and struggling on a study unit, but this particular time, someone stormed into her room. She didn’t know that I speak Russian—”
“You do?!”
His lips twitched. “I do.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“A handful.”
Gaping at that but realizing I was digressing, I wafted a hand at him. “Go on.”
“She called the man Fyodor. And then, when he’d gone, she muttered, ‘I’d curse the Turgenev family if I didn’t love your son.’”
“Is she a witch?”
“Unlikely. She’s very… clinical.” He grunted. “Anyway, I knew that name. Fyodor Turgenev.”
“Who is it?” Before he could answer, I asked, “You eating that? If you’re not, I will.”
He passed it over. “Have at it. Your ma made me sandwiches earlier.” Despite his absentminded state of mind, I saw the gleam in his eyes as I devoured his leftovers. “What do you know about the Bratva?”
“Not a lot.” My fork hovered in the air. “They’re called The Forgotten Boys now, aren’t they?”
“No. Well, yes. In the city. They seceded from the Bratva.
“So, the Bratva is an international body in one sense, but that’s what they call themselves on a local footing too. Fyodor Turgenev was the second-in-command of the international Bratva. A very powerful and very deadly asshole.”
“Was?”
“Yeah, he died last year. But that she was in close contact with him, that he’d spoken to her with deference as he’d barged into her apartment… it made me think about her circumstances.
“I did some hunting. Mostly because I wanted to make sure she wasn’t catfishing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“They could have used that account to get friendly with me, maybe thinking they could trawl me for information.”
“Okay, yeah, makes sense.”
“Her username was SofiaTh3Gr8. When she’d told me she was working to find a cure for her mom’s illness, she told me her name—Dushenka. Another time, she let slip that her mom was a model before she married her dad.
“So, I did some rooting around in the Bratva leadership and I learned she was the daughter of the Krestniy Otets. He’s the head of the entire brotherhood. Basically, their version of Aidan Jr. Except, think international.”
“Wow! What a small world.”
“Right? Again, it felt like a setup. The coincidence seemed surreal, but I thought about everything she’d ever told me and I realized she hated her father.
“The Forgotten Boys were born from a… cataclysm in Moscow. They’re Russian but not allied to the Bratva, aside from being ex-members of the brotherhood.
“You with me so far?”
“Yeah, I’m keeping up,” I said wryly, but I turned toward him, eager to learn more. “What was this ‘cataclysm’ out of Moscow?”
“A bomb. It made the news over here so you know it was bad.” When I whistled, he nodded. “So I did something dumb. Something I’ve told no one about—”
“You helped Sofia get out,” I burst in, somehow knowing that he had, intrinsically aware that he’d go the extra mile for this random woman he’d never met in person.
Because as much as Stan was capable of evil, he was also a good guy, and that tugged on my heartstrings. The contradiction both fascinated and bewildered but never failed to reel me in.
His brows lifted at my guess. “How do you figure that?”
“It’s the type of man you are.”
He didn’t look like he believed me but hell, his actions did the talking here, not me. “I asked Taube to get her out,” he explained. “Which she did. She planted bones. Made it look like she was murdered.”
“Oh, crap!”
“Anyway, we had a meeting recently, between factions, and the head of the Russians approached me about SofiaTh3Gr8. She’s in Poughkeepsie of all places. She wants to see me.”
I straightened. “You weren’t in a romantic relationship with her, were you?”
“No.” His expression shifted and he pulled a face. “I guess it’s time I told you about the Anjou rubies.”
When he went on to explain how their bloodline was from a now-defunct royal household, and how they had a family curse tied to said bloodline, I gawked at him.
“So, you’re a prince?”
“That do it for you?” His brows waggled, paused mid-waggle, then his face fell. “When did you say the doctor’s visiting?”
“Tomorrow. Which you’d know if you’d listened earlier!”
He shot me a sheepish smile. “Tomorrow.”
“I can do—”
“No.”
“A doctor’s opinion means more than mine, huh? Technically, it’s none of your business—”
“You are my business. I’m not about to jeopardize one hair on your head, duci.” His voice turned into a low rumble. “You’ll only know pleasure with me.”
I licked my lips. “That a promise?”
He studied my mouth. “That’s a vow.”
Because I was feeling better, I leaned into him.
“Liunissa,” he groaned.
“Yes, Stan?”
“I recognize that smirk.” His eyes dropped to my hands when they settled on his knees. I used them to stabilize myself as I twisted onto his lap while his came to rest on my hips. “You’re a tease. Why does that come as a surprise?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s almost like I haven’t been giving you clues for the past couple weeks.”
He barked out a laugh and the sound was so young, so free, that I knew I wanted to hear that laugh over and over again.
This was Stan.
This was who he should have been.
Not a man who discussed Russian Mob politics over pasta. But one who worked for the greater good, who crafted medications for those in need.
Sadness might have filled me, but it was at that moment that I took the burden of his soul on my shoulders.
I wouldn’t stop until he laughed like that again. And again. And again.
I cupped his jaw. “Do you know what soaking is?”
“I speak English, so se.”
My tone was a singsong. “I don’t think you do.”
“It’s to do with liquid.”
“Not in this instance.” When he clucked his tongue, exasperated, I grinned. “You put your dick in me and we lie there.”
He scowled. “That sounds like torture.”
“It’s supposed to be nice.” Well, with a shaker.
“Nice?” he repeated, this time sounding beyond dubious, more like suspicious.
“Honestly, it’s a thing.”
“Since when?” His expression proclaimed, I’ll endure for you, duci. “You won’t move?”
“Not an inch.”
His lips quirked. “Can you sleep that way?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Tell me what I don’t already know.”
“Are you being serious right now?!”
“About your dick going in my pussy without you having a meltdown if I groan and you thinking I’m in pain? Hell to the yeah.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Kitty. You’ve suffered enough through my actions.”
“Let me own this. I know what I want. Honestly, I want more. I need more. I feel like I need to reconnect with you.” My throat bobbed. “I-I don’t believe in soul mates, Stan.”
A wicked smile creased his lips, and the light in his eyes? Oooh, mama. “Until now?”
I scrunched my nose at him. “What I do know is that I’d have kicked anyone else to the curb. You? I can’t. I-I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you every day. Of…” I pushed my forehead against his so I could shut my eyes and hide from him as I confessed, “I shouldn’t tell you.”
“You should. Don’t you know, Kitty? I’m so far all-in that if you did kick me to the curb, I’d wait out there with a boom box—”
“You’ve watched Say Anything?” I squeaked.
“Of course! It’s a classic.”
“Oh, my god.” I grabbed his ears and squinted at him.
“You might be a psycho but you have the best taste in movies! We need to watch it together on Ma’s massive screen.
Only, don’t tell my sisters because they’ll want in on movie night.
Neev has the biggest crush on John Cusack. It started in Grosse Point Blank.”
Stan quipped, “Your sister is bizarre.”
“She owns it,” I dismissed, then, timidly, continued, “I’d listen to the music you picked.”
“You want a mix tape?”
“You can save that for the next time you fuck up.”
“You’re so sure I will?”
“You’re a man. I grew up with three brothers. I know how it works.” Still, I pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “So, what do you think about my suggestion?”
“I’ll bite… but every time you move, I’ll force an orgasm out of you later when you have the all clear.”
“Is that your idea of a deterrent?”
“Oh, duci,” he purred. “You’ll learn.”